


Iokath, Midday

by squidhat



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 15:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13414413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidhat/pseuds/squidhat
Summary: The reunion scene I wanted. Contains cyborg!Quinn, because I love appearance #8.





	Iokath, Midday

The door to the Empress’s temporary quarters snapped open. Zayetana found herself trembling as she walked in, head held high (because who knew who was in the corridors beyond, watching her and Quinn as they moved together, oh there would be talk, because it was painfully obvious what they were up to.) She turned, intending to touch the control panel that would close and lock the door, but Malavai was well ahead of her; he drove a gloved fist into the panel, causing it to beep angrily. The door banged shut, the locks clicking in finality.

Zayetana turned to her husband, her heart banging in her ribs, yellow eyes alight with desire and delight all at once. She reached up to trace the implants at Quinn’s jawline, but he met her there, gloved fingers curling around her small hand. With a small click, the HUD panels slid away from his eyes, vanishing entirely. His eyes, at least, were the same. Still blue, pupils dilated with need.

“You’ve had work done,” she murmured, approving.

“To combat the ravages of age, my love.” His breath, warm and heavy, came out through parted, pale lips. “Too many years without proper hearing protection in battle. My visual acuity needed augmentation, as well. I…I’ll tell you the details later. Your heartbeat –“ Both hands moved to her upper arms, then, tightening enough to cause pain, to cause her own breathing to catch in her throat. “ – it’s distracting me to madness.”

“Mm, you can hear that well?” She did not give him enough time to answer. She rose up on her tiptoes, kissing him hard, mashing their lips together with heat and need. As he bent over to meet her, her heels clicked back on the metal floor. His hands became vise grips, then guides, pushing her back against the nearest wall. The twist in her white-blonde hair made a pillow there, the ornament on the top scraping paint from the fresco behind.

No. They weren’t going to make it to the bed. Not when Zayetana pushed up her skirt so that she could wrap a leg around his waist, hips aligning, grinding and pumping in unison, six years since their parting seeming to be a faint memory. Her skin tingled briefly with Force energy, and Quinn released her, not yet pulling away from the union of lips and tongues and memories and short blasts of breath. His posture shifted as he jammed a hand downward, tugging open his trousers and pushing them down around his thighs. Quinn slid a gloved hand over her knee, up to her hip, and grasped at an edge of her undergarments. They tore in his grip, fine fabric fluttering uselessly over soft, heated skin.

“Brute,” she panted, coherent thought vaporizing, the intensity in his gaze clouding her mind. Oh, this was new. Malavai Quinn: controlled in public, aggressive in private. New and glorious. “That was silk.”

“I’ll buy you as many replacements as you wish, my love,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll cover you in silk. I’ll learn your body’s map again. I’m a quick study, if you remember.” Again, she felt leather fingers on her bare skin, but this time, he was lingering over the curve of her backside before sliding down to her outer thigh, pressing there. Even as he did so, his weight pushed her up against the wall. She followed, hands locking behind his neck, booted ankles behind the small of his back. Oh, and there it was, the familiar sensation of him at her entrance, her body shivering from within at the very anticipation, the longing to be filled, to be joined again.

And then, he entered her, far too fast and all at once, and all Zayetana could utter was his name, groaned in long and low moaned syllables, eyes closing to shut out the sight of his reverent expression, her Empire accent stretching from the upper echelons right into the gutters.

But he seemed not to notice. He paused, pressed his forehead against hers, and murmured in a breathless voice: “My lord. My life. My home.”

She found herself spellbound, locked there, with him, their bodies together, the comingled scent of their arousal in her nose. She whispered an assurance in the darkness of her closed eyes: “Welcome home, husband.” From within, she squeezed him, and outside, she started to rock her hips. Inside of her fine boots, her toes curled. Her body remembered.

Quinn joined her, and they moved together, building a tandem rhythm, starting so slow and gentle but ending up giving in to need and desperation. She opened her eyes, and found sweat stinging them. She could not return to a war summit looking like this, not with hair eschew and the remains of her undergarments hanging from a knee, not the way her mouth hung open, uttering soft moans with every thrust. Quinn’s hair glistened with his own sweat, his cheeks reddened, his jawline calling for her to press her teeth there, to move down, at the flesh hidden behind his collar, and sink her teeth in.

Zayetana tasted salt and smelled his aftershave and reached her peak so suddenly that she cried out loud, muted only by her face against her husband’s tortured flesh. Her thighs shook around him, fingers interlocking again behind his neck, waiting the few precious moments until he himself finished. And the words poured out from between his lips, something of love and safety, something of missing her so dearly, but they didn’t matter. It was the sentiment of the words and the security of their bodies melding and there was no war, no destruction, just simply them.

She started to lift her head to kiss Quinn, but the room swam before her. A weak laugh rose up from her pale throat. “You made me dizzy,” she said in a soft voice, instead tilting up her head just enough to examine her handiwork. She had left an impression of her teeth on his neck.

“Mm. One moment.” The hands that had been so grasping and squeezing a few moments before became caring and soft on her body. He eased himself out of her and helped her onto her own feet, one arm sliding around Zayetana in case her trembling legs should give way. “I think we should return to the summit. They will miss you. They will search for you.”

“I can’t go out like this. It’s obvious what we’ve been up to. Let me compose myself a bit.” Her eyes half-lidded, Zayetana moved away from Quinn, starting toward the cases that held her wardrobe. She paused, remembering the soft fabric flapping about her left leg, and bent over to remove her torn undergarments. Then, an impulse carried her back to her husband’s side. Standing on her tiptoes, she brushed a kiss across one of his cheeks, and then, in a deft movement, when he moved to capture her lips with his, she tucked the torn silk into one of the pockets. “Never let it be said that I never gave you anything,” she said, a side of her pale lips drawing up in a half-smile.

Quinn's laughter rang in her ears. “You have my thanks.”


End file.
